


Harry's Secret Project

by TheObliviator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Dom Hermione Granger, F/M, Platonic BDSM, Spanking, Sub Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObliviator/pseuds/TheObliviator
Summary: AU after the GoF: Harry knows he needs to become a better wizard if he wants to fulfil his destiny and defeat Voldemort. But he gets too distracted to do this on his own. He needs someone he trusts to keep him in line, and Hermione's the only suitable candidate. Now he must persuade her to accept his offer. | Sub!Harry, Dom!Hermione
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. If everything goes according to the plan, the story will have three chapters. I think it's the first time I'm writing something about Harry and Hermione, but I hope you're going to enjoy it. The story won't include anything extreme (no sadomasochism, humiliation, blood, etc). Only consensual spanking between two friends. It's based purely on the theoretical research I've done for the story.

Harry Potter marched confidently through the crowded corridors of the magnificent and ancient castle – behaving almost as if he owned the place – nonchalantly navigating his way towards the school library. He paid little attention to his fellow students, most of whom were looking at him with admiration; he finally learned how to deal with such reactions, and his life was much easier because of that. His satchel, full of his research papers and food prepared and secured by Dobby, slung carelessly over his right shoulder. He was a boy, a _young man_ , on a _top-secret_ mission, and food played an important part in it. He needed to find Hermione, as she was the only person who could help him turn his _little project_ into _action_ , and he knew that his best friend was in her sanctuary, working dutifully on her homework, even though the deadline was in a month’s time.

“Good afternoon, Madam Pince,” Harry greeted the school librarian as he entered the library, and without waiting for the answer, he walked over to the desk, which unofficially belonged to the person he was looking for.

A small smile made an appearance on his lips when he spotted Hermione, who was writing something furiously.

“Afternoon, Hermione,” he said and sat down on the chair next to her, putting his satchel on the floor; even though his best friend never raised her eyes from the parchment, she silently removed the books from the chair when he was walking towards her. She always seemed to know when he was nearby.

“Hello, Harry,” she responded, offering him a bright smile before she returned to writing. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes, there is,” he agreed and conspiratorially looked around to make sure nobody could hear him, and then he leaned towards his interlocutor. Her undivided attention was on him again. “I’m working on a _special project_ which is _top-secret_ , and I was hoping that you could help me with it.”

Harry could feel his mouth forming a wide grin when he noticed Hermione’s facial expression; her chocolate-brown eyes became brighter than usual, and her small nose twitched in excitement. He won her interest. Just like he hoped. He straightened up proudly as his confidence surged even more.

“A _special project_?” Hermione whispered with eagerness, and, as he noticed, she took out her wand and was about to cast the Muffliato Charm. He knew her better than anyone else, and he knew that she wanted to make sure no one overheard them. They weren’t supposed to know the charm yet, but his friend found it in one of the many books she had read and decided that it was useful. He had to agree with her.

“Not here, Hermione, even though I appreciate your willingness to help,” he said, gently grabbing her wand, his eyes twinkling with mirth. His best friend was always ready to help him, especially when she thought it included doing more research. “Dobby recommended me a special place where we can talk undisturbed. How much homework do you have left? I’m not sure how long it’s going to take us there, and I’d hate to ruin your schedule more than I already did. My project isn’t that urgent.”

“Just Ancient Runes,” she answered, hiding her wand in the holster on her arm. She tilted her head slightly, looking at him attentively. “I only have the conclusion to write. Then I’m all yours.”

“Perfect.” He picked up all the library books Hermione brought to her table, huffing quietly. They were quite heavy. “Finish your homework, and I’ll put them back for you.”

“You’re an idiot, Harry,” she told him with a smile.

“But you love me anyway,” he answered with a wink, stealing a quiet laugh from his best friend, and went to take care of the books.

He returned less than ten minutes later, as he wasn’t sure where the section with Arithmancy was and had to find it. Hermione was in the middle of packing her essays.

“Ready?” he asked when she closed her backpack and took both of their satchels when his companion nodded, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder. He was determined to be as casual as possible. Then he offered her his arm.

He watched Hermione rolling her eyes good-naturedly, shoving him gently before she linked their arms. A moment later, they left the library, ignoring the students and some of the professors who were looking at them with curiosity, and he led them to the seventh floor. Hermione was interested to hear what he had in mind. He only hoped he could make his friend agree to take part in his _little project_ once she accurately knew what he expected her to do. He had only one chance for that, and he'd be damned if he wasted it.

***

“What is this place, Harry?” Hermione asked him as soon as they crossed the threshold of the door that appeared out of nowhere in the wall opposite the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet.

“The Room of Requirement, or Come and Go Room if you prefer,” he answered and walked towards the big oak table in the centre of an average room. “According to Dobby, the Room gives you what you want. All you have to do is to walk past the wall three times, thinking about what you need and… it will appear.”

Hermione nodded, looking at him with a wide smile. “So, let’s say – if I wished for my own library, then—”

“You’d get one, yes,” he finished with a laugh. His friend was one of a kind. “According to Dobby’s explanation, that it.”

“Sounds great,” she agreed and started looking around the room. In the meantime, he started unpacking his satchel. The house-elf prepared him, among other things, some chicken sandwiches, sausages, as well as chicken salad. “So, what are you planning?”

“Dinner,” he said, putting two bottles of Butterbeer on the table, right next to the chocolate cake, which he knew was Hermione’s favourite. “Well, and dessert.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” his friend said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I know,” he grinned. “But you can’t plan world domination without a proper meal, can you now?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his antics and walked towards him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. He offered her a chair, and when she sat down, he lit the candles and sat down next to her.

“You could just tell me you’re taking me on a date instead of making excuses, Harry,” Hermione said, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I’d change.”

“You don’t have to change, Hermione, you look perfect regardless,” he answered honestly, smiling gently. “But no, it’s not a date. I’d rather have our first date somewhere else.”

Hermione nodded, laughing at that, and started eating salad, while he treated himself to a sausage. The two of them were best friends, but there was _something else_ as well. Potential for something more. _Much_ more. They realised that when he asked Hermione to be his date during the Yule Ball when he learned that as a Champion, he was supposed to start the ball with the rest of his co-Champions.

She was teaching him how to dance – without her help, he’d embarrass himself in front of everyone – and during one practice, he asked her to go out with him before he even realised what he said. Having her in his arms felt just right, and he couldn’t imagine dancing with anyone else. Rita Skeeter and her articles about their _epic_ romance did nothing but provoke them to flirt shamelessly with each other every time they saw her.

“So, Harry, are you ready to tell me about your _secret project_ now?” Hermione asked when they finished their dinner, leaving the cake and the Butterbeers for later. Dobby came to collect the dishes a few moments ago, smiling at them brightly.

“I am,” he agreed and took some papers out of his satchel, which was lying on the floor next to his chair. “As we all know, Voldemort is back and wants to kill me. Again. Sirius took me aside during the summer holiday and told me that the reason Riddle tried to kill me when I was a baby was the Prophecy. According to it, I have some sort of power that can stop him once and for all.”

Harry didn’t know the whole contents as Sirius knew only that such Prophecy existed, and he was the one who could stop him. Voldemort was back, and his godfather thought that he deserved to know why the wizard wanted to get rid of him.

He shuddered at the thought. He and Fleur Delacour grabbed the Triwizard Cup at the same time – he wanted her to have it since she was the true Champion, and she wanted him to have it for saving her little sister during the second task, but they agreed to take it together – and it took them to the graveyard of his nightmares. Fortunately for both of them, Pettigrew couldn’t resist the Veela’s thrall much, and they were able to run away before he murdered them. However, Harry got hurt during their escape, and Voldemort was able to use his blood to return – he saw it in his another painful nightmare.

“The Prophecy?” came up a quiet question. “Like, a real Prophecy?”

“Yes, Hermione, a real one,” he said, nodding. “I know what you think about Divination, but this is real. Sirius told me that there’s the Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. He intends to take me there during Christmas break, once he’s, you know…”

“Finally acquitted?” she supplied.

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling. “Madam Bones thinks that Sirius will be a free man again by the end of October. With our, and Fleur’s, memories, they have no choice but to proclaim him innocent. Unfortunately, Fudge’s trial is their priority now, so Sirius still has to wait for the official verdict.”

“I truly hope she’s going to be the Minister once Fudge is officially gone.” Hermione grabbed his right hand and squeezed it gently. “Right now, she’s only an interim one, but she’s already so much better than he has been. Can you imagine what would happen if Fudge was still in charge?”

A shiver ran down his spine. “I can imagine. He’d probably install someone here at Hogwarts to be his little spy. And I doubt he’d believe me that Voldemort wanted to use me for his ritual and, thanks to my blood, he’s back… You have no idea how grateful I am for McGonagall to banish the Dementor before it could kiss Crouch junior. Fudge is an idiot for bringing that monster here.”

“I agree,” Hermione said with a sigh, releasing his hand so she could hide her head in hers. “His foolishness and arrogance almost cost us Riddle’s puppet. And Sirius at the end of our third year. I hope he’s going to pay for his actions. Anyway, you told me about the Prophecy, but what is your plan exactly? Your _secret project?_ How can I help you if you don’t know the contents of your Prophecy?”

It was the moment he was waiting for. The reason why he asked her to come with him. He could do this.

“Hermione,” he started, putting the papers he was still holding in his left hand on the desk. She looked at him questioningly. “You and Ron are my best friends, and I trust you implicitly. I know that you care about me and my safety more than anything, and I appreciate that. I hope you know that.”

“Of course I know that Harry, but what—”

“My _secret project_ is to become a better wizard,” he continued, not allowing her to finish her sentence and gently grabbed her hands, squeezing them. He feared that he would lose his confidence otherwise. “And maybe a better student. If what Sirius told me is true, I am the only person that can stop Voldemort. I need to practice, Hermione. Sirius got me a list of useful spells to master in my free time. I need to focus on my destiny. But I cannot do this without your help. I tried.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His friend said nothing. She knew him better than anyone else to know he needed time to formulate his explanation.

“I need someone I trust to hold me accountable,” he resumed his speech, opening his eyes. His bright green ones met her chocolate-brown ones. “I need someone to hold me on a short leash, so I don’t get distracted. I can’t waste time playing Exploding Snap when the future of our country depends on my combat skills. I also need someone to help me temper my anger. I don’t have time for detentions with Snape. I need someone to discipline me when it’s needed. I need _you_ to discipline me when I’m out of line.”

Hermione said nothing. She only stared at him, her eyes wide open. He knew she tried to process what he just told her. But as he noticed, she didn’t even blink, which was somewhat disconcerting. He would rather know what she was thinking. Despite this, Harry took another deep breath, gathering all his courage.

“Hermione,” he said and kneeled next to her, his hands still holding hers. “Hermione, _please_ , I need you – _want_ , truly – to spank me when I deserve it.”

Hermione’s continuous silence and her surprised expression were making him feel more and more anxious with every passing second. He didn’t regret asking her about taking charge of his discipline, but he would like her to say something. _Anything_. Even rejection would be better than her silence.

Finally, a few moments later, Hermione opened her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Harry, could you repeat that?” she asked, her voice betraying her confusion. “You want me to do what?”

“Spank me,” he said, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A small smile made an appearance on his lips as he squeezed her hands again. She didn’t refuse his offer right away, so there was a chance for her to say yes. “Take me over your knee, tan my hide, turn my ass purple, beat my—”

“I know what spanking means, Harry, don’t be so crass about it,” Hermione scolded him softly, her face turning pink in a fraction of a second. He had to admit that she looked quite beautiful when she was flushed. “What I’m trying to understand is _why_ you want _me_ to spank _you_. And why would you want to be spanked in the first place? I mean, the Dursleys abused you in the past. Why would you want me to hurt you on purpose?”

“There’s a difference between abuse and… this. You wouldn’t hurt me, Hermione,” he said and put his right hand on her left cheek. The other hand still held hers. “I mean, you _would_ hurt me, but with my permission. The Dursleys never asked me if I wanted to live in the cupboard. They simply kept me there against my will. But _I’m_ asking _you_ to be in charge of me. I’m asking you to keep me in line because I trust you implicitly and know that you won’t abuse my trust. _Please_ , Hermione, you have to agree. I cannot ask Ron to be my disciplinarian because even though I trust him, we all know he’s as lazy as I am. We almost always do our homework right before the deadline.”

“I’m not sure about it, Harry,” she said with a heavy sigh, and he lowered his hand. “I want you to defeat Riddle. But we are young, and young people often do stupid things. Just look at us and at our decisions that we made during our education here. I don’t want you to regret anything. Besides, I don’t know what to do.”

“I won’t regret it. I promise,” he said and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve been thinking about it since August. And it’s not like I’m asking you to have sex with me. I mean, we totally can if you want to, but I’d rather have our first date first.”

“Harry!” He laughed at Hermione’s indignation. “You’re such a boy!”

“I know,” he agreed, grinning. “But what I’m trying to say is that a lot of our classmates already are sexually active. I only want to have my butt spanked when I fail to accomplish my task. Besides, think about it – if we win the war, you’ll be able to tell that we did it only because you spanked Harry Potter’s ass!”

“ _When_ we win the war, Harry,” Hermione corrected him and leaned towards him, their noses touching. “Because if I agree to do this, you won’t fail to kill that bastard. Ron and I will help you. And you know I don’t accept failures.”

“Yes, boss!” he answered, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Does it mean you accepted my proposal?”

“No,” she said, gently shaking her head. Their noses were still touching. “It means that I’m going to consider your proposal and let you know my decision in the morning.”

“I can live with that,” he agreed, already knowing that it was a yes. Hermione barely when could refuse him. “And to make your decision easier, I have something for you.”

He got up from the floor and grabbed the papers he left on the table. Then he turned towards his best friend again and gave them to her. A wide grin was present on his face.

“What is this?” Hermione asked, taking the parchments.

“The copy of the list of spells Sirius prepared for me,” he responded and sat down on his chair. “The ones I plan to master. And, if you accept my proposal, that’s the list of spells you’re going to learn, too.”

“You know how to bribe a woman.” Hermione laughed and hid the papers in her satchel. “I will have a look at them before bed and see if tanning your hide is worth learning them.”

“Sounds fair,” he agreed and offered her one Butterbeer and grabbed the cake. “So, dessert now?”

He grinned, seeing his friend rolling her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the middle of a quiet and peaceful night, but one Harry Potter of Gryffindor couldn’t sleep. He was lying on his bed with his eyes wide open, surrounded by darkness. His five roommates were already asleep, some of them – but he didn’t know who exactly – snored quietly, but he paid little attention to them. His brain had different things to do than to think about a bunch of snoring teenagers. Namely, it was preoccupied with analysing everything that took place during the day, and no matter how much he tried, he was unable to force his brain to shut up. And the truth was, he wasn’t even trying.

He finally asked Hermione to take charge of his discipline and spank him when he was out of the line.

He felt his face getting warmer as a blush made an appearance on his pale cheeks when he reminded himself of that moment in the Room of Requirement – he was on his knees, holding Hermione’s hands, and looking her right in the eyes. He had no idea why, but for some reason, it felt right. _They_ felt right. Them being together.

He liked to think that he was a brave person – one dead Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and the copy of the Triwizard Cup in his bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place can serve as proof – but it took him days, _weeks_ , to gather the courage to approach his best friend and ask her to fulfil his heart’s desire. He needed that. He craved someone, _Hermione,_ to take care of him and help him to become a better person. Better wizard. Better warrior. He was thinking about submitting himself to his best friend ever since his godfather told him about the Prophecy, but, for some reason, every time he tried to approach Hermione during her stay at 12 Grimmauld Place in August, he was unable to say what he wanted.

Harry sighed and rolled over to his right side, huffing. He knew the reason. He wasn’t in the right mind to express his desire, and they were never alone. Learning about the Prophecy was heart-breaking and very taxing. He was grateful that Hermione wasn’t there with him, yet, because when his godfather told him about it, he was a shell of himself. He struggled to accept his fate.

The information terrified him at first. It was his destiny to defeat Voldemort; he was the only person who could do this. To stop this cruel monster. He knew that the wizard made him his enemy when he was a baby, but finding out that he was the subject of the Prophecy was a completely different matter. Then he was furious. He didn’t want to be “the Chosen One” and be responsible for saving the country, maybe even the whole world. He didn’t want to be a child soldier. He might be fifteen, but he was still a child, an _untrained_ one for that matter. Voldemort had years of experience, and he only knew how to cast a few spells. That wasn’t fair.

Once he was calm again, and it took him a whole week and Hermione’s upcoming arrival to cool down, he accepted his unwanted fate. He begrudgingly decided that since he already had a target on his back, he could well enough accept what was to come and face it like the Gryffindor he was. Finally, acceptance was followed by determination. Riddle murdered his parents. That monster was the reason why he was deprived of his right to be raised in the Wizarding world and had to endure abuse at the hands of his Muggle relatives. He – and Pettigrew, of course – were the reason why Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban. Harry wanted revenge. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted to avenge his parents and godfather.

And there was also Hermione. She was another reason why he decided to fight back. She was his best friend. His _something_ and _everything._ He was more than aware that Voldemort and his followers would want to hurt her not only because of her loyalty to him, but because in their eyes, she was nothing, but a dirty, worthless _Mudblood_. 

He shuddered at the unpleasant thought.

Hermione wasn’t dirty. She wasn’t worthless. She wasn’t a Mudblood. She was Hermione Granger. She was a Gryffindor. She was a talented and intelligent _witch_. She was much better than all of those who disregarded her. He knew that his friend would be a great Minister for Magic one day. She was loyal. Fierce. Loving. She always cared for the weaker ones and underdogs, himself and Neville included. Because he wasn’t some sort of mythological hero who could save the day. He didn’t have enormous power like Riddle or Dumbledore; he was a mediocre wizard and student. He was just Harry. A little orphan. He barely knew anything regarding the Wizarding world, and yet everyone expected him to be great. To do incredible things only because he survived the Killing Curse thanks to his mother’s sacrifice. Sometimes he feared that only Hermione and Ron seemed to remember that he was just Harry. A young boy. Nobody.

He huffed and lay on his back, staring into the darkness.

He would have to ask Sirius during the Christmas break if he had any information regarding the person who decided to place him with the Dursleys. He needed to know who condemned him to have such a miserable life. If it was his destiny to be a child soldier, then he should’ve been trained in combat, so he could stand as Voldemort’s equal when the time was right. But because someone decided to keep him in the dark, the fate of their beloved country was on the shoulders of the person – _young boy! –_ who knew next to _nothing_.

“Hermione would make a law to protect magical orphans,” he muttered darkly and crossed his arms. “She’d never allow a child to be deprived of their heritage. No child would suffer abuse at the hands of Muggles if she were the Minister for Magic.”

He huffed again, turning to lie on his stomach and closing his eyes. He was tired and annoyed and, for some reason, full of hatred. Towards his Muggle relatives. Towards the person who took him away. He hated having dark thoughts, but sometimes they were captivating.

“Think about Hermione,” he whispered to himself, his eyes firmly closed. “Think about her beautiful smile, her gentle touch, her loving voice. Be a good boy for her. Don’t disappoint her with your angry thoughts. Make her proud. Trust her. She won’t let anyone hurt you again. She’ll protect you. She’ll take care of you.”

A small smile made an appearance on his lips as he imagined his best friend. She was sitting on the sofa in the common room, laughing at the joke Ron just told them.

Harry visibly relaxed. He hated having dark thoughts, but just thinking about Hermione was always able to get rid of them. She was his light. He needed her presence and guidance if he intended to fulfil the Prophecy. He didn’t feel whole without her.

***

Harry was in the deserted common room, staring absentmindedly at the crackling fire in the fireplace. He couldn’t sleep, even though he was exhausted, as his brain was too busy with thinking about everything and nothing.

He was mostly thinking about Hermione. He wanted to know her decision already. He knew deep down that the answer was going to be positive, as she didn’t decline his proposal right away, but he needed to hear her confirmation. He already started picturing her in the role of his disciplinarian, and he was desperate to hear her answer. He needed to hear her saying that she was going to take care of him. He needed that. He needed _her_.

“Good morning, Harry.” He jumped out of the armchair he was occupying when he unexpectedly heard his friend’s cheerful voice. “Oh, sorry about that! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hermione, hello,” he said, a bright smile instantly made an appearance on his lips. “That’s fine, promise. I was lost in thought.”

“Rough night, am I right?” she asked softly and put her delicate hand on his shoulder, scrutinising him. He nodded slightly. “I thought so. You’re not an early riser.”

“That I’m not,” he agreed with a grin and prodded her gently, stealing a laugh from her. “Unlike you.”

Hermione was an early riser and always was up before anyone else, as she loved to work undisturbed. That was, actually, one of the reasons why he decided to leave his warm bed and dormitory – he hoped to meet her in the common room so they could talk and establish everything concerning their current relationship.

He only hoped she would give him a sign regarding her decision and put him out of his misery. He didn’t want to ask as he didn’t want his friend to feel pressured, but at the same time, the curiosity was killing him. He needed to know.

There was a moment of silence. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something. _Anything._ But the silence continued. Harry saw Hermione frown, and that made him swallow hard as he started getting nervous. Was that a no? Could he be mistaken? Did she reject his proposal didn’t want to hurt him by saying this aloud? He was _positive_ Hermione would accept his offer!

Crestfallen, he lowered his head. His hands found their way to his uniform shirt and started playing with the hem of it. He had no clue what to do with himself now, as he suddenly felt at a loss as to how to behave in his best friend's presence. He should've kept his mouth shut. He should've kept the relationship he wanted them to have in his head. He ruined everything.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked with concern.

“Perfect,” he muttered, not being able to look at her. He didn’t want her to see him hurt. He had a feeling that he could start crying at any moment, as tears began appearing in his bright green eyes. “I’m perfect.”

He heard Hermione talking, but he was unable to focus on the contents of her words. He felt heartbroken and miserable. He wished it was just a nightmare, and he could simply wake up.

“Ow!” he yelped as an unexpected swat landed on his bottom.

Eyes wide and hands on his buttocks, he instantly looked at Hermione. She stood in front of him, arms crossed, and looked at him with such a stern expression that would make Professor McGonagall proud.

With a furiously beating heart, Harry straightened up proudly, fighting hard not to massage his stinging bottom. He watched his best friend scrutinising him up and down again, her small nose twitching. He didn’t dare to blink.

“Did you hear a word I said?” she asked him sternly. He shook his head. “Verbal answer, Harry.”

“No,” he responded quickly.

“No?” she questioned, her right eyebrow rose.

“No, Hermione,” he corrected himself, instantly understanding what she expected him to say. His cheeks flushed, and his body trembled with excitement. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Now go get your books and come here,” she said, her voice calm and commanding. “We need to talk seriously, and we won’t return here before breakfast.”

“Yes, Hermione,” he answered with a small smile, suddenly feeling calm and relaxed, and ran to his dormitory. He knew quite well what she meant by that.

A huge grin made an appearance on his lips when he was picking up his satchel. It cost him much, not to start screaming with joy. Hermione accepted his offer.

He closed the door gently behind himself when he excused himself from the room, not wanting to wake up his roommates, and with a calmness he didn’t feel in a very long time, he went to join Hermione in the common room.

His buttocks still stung him, but for some reason, he felt oddly at peace.

***

“I’ve read the list of spells, as well as the… research you’ve made.” A blush made an appearance on Harry’s pale cheeks at Hermione’s statement as she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, making him feel like a naughty boy. “I admire your dedication and, well, attention to details, but a little warning would be nice. I thought I’d find only the spells prepared by Sirius there.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said, looking sheepishly at his best friend. “I considered telling you about my research, but I was simply scared you wouldn’t even look at the papers if you knew what they contained. And I wanted you to know that I’m serious about it. I truly _want_ it.”

“I forgive you, Harry, but next time I’d like to know what kind of information I can expect,” she stated, sighing heavily. “Do I even want to know how you, a teenage boy, came into possession of photographs presenting a large number of people receiving spankings on their naked bottoms with a variety of different implements?”

Harry felt his cheeks getting warmer again, but he bravely maintained eye contact.

“The library belonging to the House of Black at 12 Grimmauld Place is very informative,” he started quietly. “You’d be surprised what you can find there.”

Hermione made a strange sound. He wasn’t sure if she choked, cried, or laughed. Most likely, she did all three at the same time.

“I regret asking. I won’t be able to look at the books there ever again,” she said and shook her head. “Anyway, as I already began, I’ve read everything you gave me, and I’m willing to agree to be your, um, disciplinarian, but under some conditions.”

“What kind of conditions?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager and hopeful. The swat she gave him was enough to make him crave more of her discipline.

“First of all, unless you can give me a good reason, different than the Prophecy, for quitting Quidditch, you’re staying on the team,” she said, raising her hand to silence him. “Not a word, Harry. I’m talking now. Understood?”

He nodded quickly, biting his lips to stop himself from talking. Besides, he didn’t even have a good reason to provide. He watched Hermione’s features softening at his reaction, and she took his hands in hers and squeezed them.

“You know what I think about this game, but _you_ love to play Quidditch, Harry,” she started quietly. “I won’t allow you to quit unless you _truly_ don’t want to play anymore. Just like I won’t let you abandon Ron.”

“But I have to practice!” he whined and inwardly winced when he realised that it made him sound like a child. “I can’t waste time.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said sternly. “What you need is _balance_. You cannot practice every single minute, or else you’ll get mad. Trust me. I _know_. I was a walking mess during our third year because I had too much on my plate. You need to have an opportunity to relax, and Ron is your _best friend_. You can’t start ignoring him. I think you should tell him the truth as well. Well, maybe sans the discipline thing. Unless you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

“But Ron is… _Ron_ ,” he responded, not knowing what he wanted to say. Ron was his other best friend, and he loved him like a brother, but he couldn’t deny that the Weasley boy was as lazy as he was.

“Yes, Harry. Ron is _Ron_ ,” Hermione agreed, raising her eyebrow again. He had a feeling she knew what he just thought. “He can be lazy and have problems with jealousy, but then again, we’re not saints, either. And he’s also our best friend. He’s the boy who went with us to save the Philosopher’s Stone. He’s the boy who went with you to the Chamber of Secrets when I was petrified. He’s the boy who still wanted to protect you from an alleged murderer while having his leg broken. Have more faith in him, Harry. Ron isn’t stupid. He’ll want to help you practice.”

Harry absentmindedly nodded. Hermione was right. He knew that Ron could be responsible and serious when the situation needed it, and he would help him without batting an eye.

“You’ve got the point,” he agreed. “I will talk to him later.”

“Good,” she nodded and took some parchment from her satchel. He immediately started missing her touch. “When Lavender and Parvati went to sleep, I prepared you a schedule. Every day after classes, you’ll go to the library like the good boy you are and do your assigned homework. I will check it in the evening, so you’ll have time to revise it the next day if something is wrong.”

He nodded, blushing when she called him a good boy. He liked the way she said that.

“You’ll be doing your homework until dinner unless you finish it earlier, and once you’re full, we’re going here, to the Room of Requirement, and we’re going to practice the spells Sirius prepared. We will be here until curfew. Then you’re free to do whatever you want to do in the common room, and I’ll do my Prefect rounds.”

“I understand,” he said and cleared his throat. “And what about the punishment? I mean, have you decided how you’re going to administer my spankings?”

“That’s, actually, the most important thing I want to discuss with you.” Hermione sighed heavily and pinched her small nose. “I cannot agree to your terms.”

Harry’s heart froze. What did Hermione mean saying she couldn’t agree? She _had to_ agree! He _needed_ her to agree! That was the whole point of him asking her to keep him accountable. She even swatted him, for Merlin’s sake!

“What do you mean?” he finally asked, blinking a few times. “You won’t spank me? But I asked you to be my disciplinarian so you would do this. Keep me on a short leash.”

“I’m not saying I won’t tan your hide,” Hermione whispered, her face reddening slightly. “Well, at least not until I know your motives. What I meant is that I won’t do this the way you want me to do. Harry, for Merlin’s sake, you wrote in the papers you gave me that you want me to use the tawse on you!”

Harry tilted his head, not knowing what she meant, and nodded slowly a few moments later.

“Well, yes. I did.” He looked at her and frowned. “Why are you so… surprised?”

“Harry, do you have any idea how much being spanked with the tawse hurts?” She sighed when he shook his head. “Much. I won’t use it on you. Nor will I use a cane or a belt.”

“But why not?” he asked, confused. “Spanking is supposed to hurt, right?”

“Harry.” Hermione pinched her nose again. “I have two questions for you, and please, be honest with me. Especially with the second one, as I already know the answer for the first one. Have you ever been spanked?”

“No,” he answered quietly and tilted his head again. “The Dursleys never spanked me. My cousin used to punch me and chase me, my Uncle hit me a few times on my head, but they never spanked me. They preferred to keep me in the cupboard. Why?”

Hermione didn’t respond right away. She sighed and grabbed his hands again.

“I just try to understand your reason,” she started softly. “My second question is: _why_ do you want me to spank you?”

“Because I want to become a better wizard and be motivated to fulfil my destiny,” he answered with a frown. “I already told you that.”

“I know that, Harry,” Hermione said patiently. “But that’s not the whole truth, am I right? I want to know why you came up with such a solution. I want to know why you choose _spanking_ as your punishment.”

He felt his face getting warmer as a blush made an appearance on his pale cheeks.

“Did you know that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley used to spank Ron and the rest of his siblings?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Ginny informed me once about it when we talked about our childhood.”

“Well, as you know, Ron and the twins stole their Dad’s flying car before our second year and came to rescue me from the Dursleys’,” he continued, blushing even more. “I… um, I needed to use the bathroom and saw them being punished. My Aunt and Uncle were always mad when they were dealing with me, but Mr. Weasley… he wasn’t angry. He was calm. Ron told me later that their parents never punish them when they are angry, and they always hold them once everything is done.”

He stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he raised his eyelids again, he saw Hermione looking at him with understanding.

“I want the same, Hermione,” he began quietly. “I want to know that even if I mess up, I’m still loved. That _you_ love me. I know you can find it strange, but for me, spanking is the only punishment I associate with love. Hermione, _please_. I need you to do this.”

“But why you want me to use the tawse?” she asked him and made him get up from his chair and get closer to her. He knelt down, so their eyes were on the same level. “Especially the way you proposed – off the top of my head, twenty smacks for being lazy, forty for getting detention, and one smack for every point you’re going to lose.”

“Because spanking is supposed to hurt,” he whispered, averting his gaze. “It sounded good on the paper. I’ve read that the tawse is a good way to punish an offender.”

“Harry.” Hermione took his face in her hands, looking at him with a sad smile. “Harry, if I’m going to spank you, we’re going to do this my way. I won’t use any of the implements you listed in the note. I will use my hand. And I won’t spank you for having time off, or not completing your homework the same day.”

“But—”

“No buts, Harry,” Hermione rebuked him mildly. He blushed. “You’re not a robot. You deserve to have time for yourself. And I don’t expect you to always have your homework ready as I know you’ll struggle from time to time. Even _I_ struggle sometimes, Harry. And I won’t spank you for losing points or for having detention – if you get one, you’ll have to sacrifice your free time to finish everything you weren’t able to because of your detention.”

“What will you spank me for, then?” he asked. “And why will you use your hand only?”

“For being reckless and putting your life in unnecessary danger.” Hermione offered him a small smile. “Or for being extremely disrespectful. And I’ll use only my hand for two reasons. The first reason is that you’ve never been spanked before, and the second is that I’ve never spanked anyone before. I don’t want to hurt you more than I will. But, with time, if you decide that my hand is ineffective, maybe I’ll use the hairbrush. But nothing else and only _maybe._ ”

“I understand,” he said and nodded slightly. “But Hermione… you said nothing about maintenance spankings. What do you think about them? I’d like to have them seeing as you’re not going to tan my hide as often as I thought you would. They would keep me motivated for sure.”

Hermione, who still had his head in her hands, gently caressed his right cheek. She was quiet for a moment, and as Harry knew, she was considering his words.

“I think we can try them if that’s what you want,” she said after a while. “How about every other Saturday morning? Ron’s going to be asleep then, so we’ll have some privacy here.”

“Sounds great,” he said, and hugged her in appreciation, hiding his head in her chest.

He smiled, feeling Hermione’s gentle lips on his head. She always knew how to make him feel better.

“Oh, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?” she asked and looked at him questioningly when he broke their embrace and looked her in the eyes.

“The spankings will still be on my bare bottom, right?” He tried to maintain eye contact.

Hermione said nothing, only stared at him. He assumed she wasn’t expecting to hear such a question. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t think about it at all.

“Do _you_ wanted them to be?” she finally inquired.

Harry felt his cheeks turning red. “Well… That's how you should receive a proper spanking, don’t you think?”

“I think so?” she said, asked actually. “I mean, as long as you want them to be like this.”

He smiled brightly at his best friend, his face still red, and hugged her again.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he muttered into her chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Harry,” she answered, kissing his head again. “More than anything.”

Harry closed his eyes. He felt safe. He felt loved. Because he knew that Hermione told him the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

“Harry?” A beautiful, angelic-like voice spoke tenderly somewhere above his head. Subconsciously, he raised his lips in a small smile at the lovely sound that was like music to his ears. His bright green eyes were still firmly closed as he was yet to be properly awake. “Harry? Harry, it’s time to wake up, my handsome sleepyhead.”

But one and only Harry James Potter of Gryffindor didn’t follow the whispered command. All he did was to turn around and put his hands around his cosy pillow and grip it tightly – or so he thought it was his pillow he was currently holding – snuggling into it even more in the process. A moment later, he could hear the angel’s beautiful laugh. It was a heavenly sound.

“My, my. Aren’t you a presumptuous young wizard, Mr. Potter?” the voice asked, amused. He widened his smile when he felt a gentle hand on his head, which started caressing his messy jet-black hair. “Taking a woman to your bed without even a single date?”

He slowly opened his sleepy eyes at that, still smiling, and forced himself to raise his head slightly. His vision was blurred, making it impossible for him to see his interlocutor, even though he knew more than well who was with him. Fortunately, his discomfort lasted only for a little while, as his angel put his round glasses on his nose, kissing it gently in the process.

His angel.

His Hermione.

His _everything_.

A bright smile instantly made an appearance on his lips – replacing the goofy one he wore before – when his bright green eyes met the chocolate-like eyes of his best-friend that were twinkling with mirth. The breath-taking eyes of his unofficial girlfriend. The thought warmed his heart. Girlfriend. He couldn’t wait for Christmas to make their relationship official, as they agreed to. He already had their first date in mind.

“Yes, I am. But only because the witch of my dreams is gorgeous and I love her,” he said, flashing her a charming smile. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but her in my bed.”

“Well played, Mr. Potter, well played indeed,” came up a playful answer, and Hermione stroked his cheek gently, a small, genuine smile on her lips. “You’re a real charmer, has anyone told you that?”

“A few people,” he said, still smiling. “But I care only about you and your opinion.”

“A real charmer indeed.” His best friend good-naturedly rolled her eyes, smirking. Her hand still caressed his right cheek. “But now get up, you charming sleepyhead. We have a busy morning ahead of us.”

“But I don’t want to get up,” he responded with a fake pout. A spark of mischief made an appearance in his green eyes. “My bed is warm and welcoming, and I have the most comfortable pillow in the world.”

The said pillow was, of course, Hermione. Somehow – and he didn’t know how – when she came to wake him up as promised, he found himself hugging her. Currently, he was lying on her with his hands around her waist and his head on her chest. He really should start paying attention to what was going on around him, because a few moments ago, Hermione was sitting on the edge of his bed, being hugged by him and having his head on her knees, and right now, he was on top of her.

“Well, if you truly want me to tan your hide here and risk being seen and heard by the rest of our male year mates, then, by all means, we can stay here.” Hermione raised her right eyebrow in a challenge, waiting for his answer. “The choice is yours.”

He groaned loudly. “And risk them asking you for the same? No way. I asked you first. I’m selfish. I don’t share. You’re mine and only mine.”

“Then be a good boy and do as you’ve been told.” Hermione chuckled and, in a swift move, made them turn, so now she was sitting astride on him. He bit back a moan as Hermione unconsciously sat on his groin. “Prepare for the day and meet me in the common room in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, boss!” he answered, letting a grin appear on his lips.

His best friend shook her head gently, clearly amused at his foolish behaviour, and got up gracefully. He watched her go, a goofy smile on his face.

“Oh, and Harry?” she said before she reached the door, and pointed her head towards his roommates. “Cancel the spell once I leave, please.”

“Of course,” he answered with a nod.

He knew she used the spell on the rest of their fellow Gryffindors when she entered the dormitory because they didn’t want them to wake up when she was inside. They didn’t have to see her here, at dawn, in his bed. They might have thought that Hermione had spent the night with him, and they didn't need it at the moment.

“Thank you, dear,” she said and took her wand out of her holster on her arm. “See you in twenty.”

And with that, she disappeared from his sight.

He shook his head, a smile still visible on his lips. The door opened and closed slowly, but no person was seen leaving or entering the dormitory. He knew his best friend used the Disillusionment Charm on herself; that was another useful spell she found in her books.

“Clever witch,” he said fondly and got up from his bed.

He grabbed his wand from his bedside table and cancelled Hermione’s spell, nodding firmly and hiding his property in the drawer of his nightstand as he accomplished his task. Then, he picked up the clothes he prepared the night before and went to get himself ready for the day.

***

Harry smiled unconsciously as the hot water ran down his naked body when he was washing his unruly hair. The time has finally come. The anticipated Saturday morning – dawn, to be more specific. Finally, after literal weeks of dreaming about it, he was going to have his first maintenance session with Hermione.

He laughed abruptly, almost choking moments later as the shampoo unexpectedly entered his mouth.

He knew it was probably strange and weird. To dream about having his bottom spanked by the girl of his dreams. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that boys his age usually sought to have time alone with girls they fancied – or other boys if they preferred, he wasn’t going to judge anyone – for entirely different reasons. But he wasn’t interested in _that_. Not really.

The thought had crossed his mind once or twice, of course, after all, he was a teenage boy, but he quickly got rid of the unwanted images from his mind. If he was about to start having sex, he wanted to make it right. He didn’t want to have a quickie with some random girl in the broom closet – and girls seemed to be interested in him more than they used to be, especially after he had become the fourth Champion last year – and he for sure didn’t want to have a quickie with Hermione. She was a proper young witch. She deserved better than that.

She deserved to be loved. And he wanted to _make love_ _to_ Hermione. He wanted to love her. He wanted to cherish her. He sometimes even dreamed about starting a family with her. Of course, only if she decided that he was a proper candidate to be the father of her children.

“For Merlin’s sake, you’re only _fifteen_ , Potter,” he rebuked himself. “You’re a child yourself. Your priorities should be finishing school and defeating Voldemort. Nothing else.”

Voldemort.

The dark wizard – a nasty _bastard!_ – was another reason why he didn’t want to start his sexual life yet. He couldn’t allow himself to be more distracted than he already was. More than that, he wasn’t a fool. He knew that there was a chance, a big one, that he wouldn’t survive the upcoming war. If he was to offer himself to Hermione, his body and soul, he wanted to give himself to her forever. Not for a short while.

He turned off the water with a small sigh and got out of the shower. He reached for the towel and dried himself before he put on his clothes, threw the towel and his pyjamas to the laundry basket, and returned to his dormitory. He shook his head with amusement upon hearing a quiet snore.

Harry walked towards his bed and opened the drawer of his bedside table. He picked up his wand holster, which he immediately put on his right arm, and secured his property in it right after he cast a spell on himself. He didn't want to risk an erection during his time with Hermione. Next, he reached for his old watch, and a radiant smile made an appearance on his lips when he noticed that it was lying on a handmade voucher.

A voucher for a cake made by one and only Miss Hermione Jean Granger.

Harry absentmindedly put his watch on, still smiling brightly, and excused himself from the dormitory.

When they started the training, his best friend had decided that good behaviour deserved to be rewarded. She made him collect points. Twenty points corresponded to one cake voucher, which he could use during their Christmas break or any other school break for that matter. Hermione’s cakes were his favourite, and she knew it. He would do anything to have one. She, as a matter of fact, learned how to make them when she found out that he had never had one when he lived with the Dursleys.

Ron, who decided to join them without hesitation as soon as he told him about the Prophecy and the list of spells he and Hermione were going to practice, also collected points. Ron’s points, however, were turned into sweets like Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills as cakes didn’t have the same significance for him. To Harry’s great astonishment, his other best friend was very dedicated, and he even – almost religiously despite that he didn’t have to – followed the schedule Hermione had prepared for him.

“What are you thinking about, Harry?” he heard his best friend’s curious question as soon as joined her in the common room.

“Your cakes,” he answered truthfully. “I want the one with chocolate and fudge. I already can taste it.”

“I will make it as soon as we’re at 12 Grimmauld Place,” she promised him and took out her wand to dry his hair before she secured it again. “And one with Ogden’s Old Firewhisky for Sirius. He asked me to bake one before we came back to school.”

“I warned you about offering to make a cake for him,” he said and chuckled when she punched him gently. “Your cakes are addictive. Now you have two handsome guys desperately waiting for your cakes. And thanks for drying my hair.”

“You’re an idiot, Harry,” Hermione said, good-naturedly rolling her eyes at his antics. “You’re lucky that I love you.”

“I know, but I am _your_ idiot. And I love you, too, Hermione,” he responded and offered her his arm, bowing deeply in the process. “Come, milady. Duty calls.”

His best friend rolled her eyes again but accepted his arm regardless. A moment later, they were on their way to the Room of Requirement.

***

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Harry?” Hermione asked him as soon as they found themselves in front of the wall that was about to turn into the door leading to the Room of Requirement.

“I’m positive,” he answered and nodded his head with resoluteness. “I’ve waited for it since August. Let’s do this.”

Hermione said nothing. She only looked at him intensively for a few moments, as he thought, to make sure that he was indeed ready for it. He was. He hoped they would start their maintenance session the previous Saturday, but then the two of them were summoned to the Ministry of Magic to give them their testimony regarding Fudge’s involvement in an unsuccessful capture of Sirius Black at the end of their third year. Madam Bones wanted to know why he didn’t allow them to present their arguments, especially since he was aware that Hermione was in possession of the Time-Turner, so he had to know that she went back in time to save Harry’s godfather. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement said that Fudge should have questioned Hermione regarding her saving an alleged mass murderer. He failed, and because of that, an innocent man had to stay in hiding, and the real murderer helped to bring back Lord Voldemort to life.

Harry watched, amused, as his best friend sighed with resignation before nodding as if to herself and started walking determinedly in front of the wall. He raised his lips in a small smile at her behaviour. She was a changed person at the moment. Confident, certain, unafraid. She was the _boss_. _His_ boss. And he loved it. Probably more than he should.

“After you, Mr. Potter,” she said when the door appeared and opened it widely.

“As you command, _Miss_ Granger,” he responded with a smile and entered the Room of Requirement.

He wasn’t sure what he should expect to see inside. But what he saw made him frown.

It was quite a small bedroom; its walls were coloured grey. On his right, there was a ramshackle bookshelf, which, surprisingly for him, as he knew his best friend loved reading, lacked any books. In front of him, opposite the entrance and below the small window, stood a simple wooden desk with an unsophisticated chair. On his left, however, was one camp bed. The picture was quite sad.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned quietly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as the realisation hit him like the speeding Knight Bus. Hermione nodded imperceptibly, averting her eyes. Her courage suddenly disappeared. “Why would you think of this place?”

“I had to set the mood,” she whispered, looking small all of a sudden. “This is the only way I can bring myself to hit you.”

Harry swallowed hard and slowly walked towards his best friend. She still wasn’t looking at him. He felt like the worst person in the world. He was a crappy friend and a human being.

“I am _sorry_ , Hermione,” he said and tentatively engulfed her in a hug. She instinctively hugged him back, hiding her face in his chest. “I don’t realise… I’m sorry. I should’ve known better.”

“That’s okay, Harry. I’m okay now,” Hermione stated and finally looked at him. Her determination returned. “I’m not going back there. Never again.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not saying that only to make me feel better?” he asked, uncertain. “I honestly didn’t realise what I’ve been asking…”

“I am. I promise. Because I am with you.” She put her hand on his right cheek for a short moment. “And when we’re together, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

He hummed in agreement, still holding her in his arms. His chin rested on top of her head, as Hermione, once again, hid her face in his chest.

“They used the tawse on you, didn’t they?” he questioned quietly after a while, gently rubbing Hermione’s back. He was afraid to hear the answer, even though he was sure he knew it. “You asked me during our conversation after my request if I knew how much it hurts, and you said that it hurts a lot.”

“They did,” she agreed softly. “Although not very often. Mrs. White, the matron of the orphanage, preferred to use the birch rod. Quite old-fashioned choice of weapon, if you ask me, but she loved the birch rod. Lovely woman, she was.”

Hermione raised her head, flashing him a puckish smile. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Once, when I was ten, she beat me so hard that I bled,” she said. “Unfortunately for her, the next day she fell down the stairs and broke her arm. The break was so nasty that her arm became useless. She claimed that the stairs turned into a slide, but the doctors said it was shock talking. Crazy, right?”

Harry blinked a few times. “Ron was right, you know? You are a brilliant witch, but quite scary.”

“I never claimed to be nice,” she responded with a small shrug. “And I had no idea that I was a witch at that time. And I was closed in my room when it happened. I am an innocent party here.”

“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re not my enemy,” he muttered darkly and touched her nose with his. “I can handle Voldemort. He’s crazy. But you’re smart, cunning, dangerous, and somehow you managed to convince everyone that you’re a goody-two-shoes. You should be in Slytherin as far as I’m concerned.”

Hermione put her hands around his neck. A vicious smirk made an appearance on her lips.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” she said conspiratorially. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but it was scared that the rest of the Slytherins won’t survive me. So, because my sorting was quite long, I spread the rumour that it didn’t know if I would be a better Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.”

That made him laugh sincerely. “Can you blame the Hat, Hermione? You set Snape _on fire_ during our first year at Hogwarts. You broke into his private Potions Storeroom to steal the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion during our second year. You slapped Malfoy, an excellent slap, by the way. You _literally_ went back in time to save an alleged mass murderer during our third.”

Harry knew that Hermione had flaws. But for him, she was perfect. She cared for the underdogs and those weaker than others because she knew what it meant to have a bad life. He respected her for that. He didn’t think he was that strong.

“That makes me sound like a badass,” she said and bit his lip gently, letting it go a moment later.

“You are,” he agreed with a smirk. “And I love you for that. Voldemort and his pathetic followers should be scared.”

Hermione chuckled at that and once again put her hand on his cheek.

“I love you, too, Harry,” she said softly. “And speaking of an ass… I think yours is about to be spanked.”

A grin made an appearance on his lips.

“It is, isn’t it?” he asked and finally ended their embrace. “I mean, of course, if you truly think that you can do this?”

“I can,” she answered with a nod. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t agree to do this. You know I always keep my word.”

“You do,” he agreed and watched as she went to grab the chair. “Oh, and you look like a real _badass_ in your clothes. Thought you should know.”

Hermione wore brown trousers made of dragon skin and a white shirt; it was a gift from his godfather as he claimed that his saviour had to look like a real rebel and fighter. Everything was well suited and highlighted his best friend’s lovely figure that was usually hidden behind her school robes. Harry was aware that Hermione wasn’t considered to be the most beautiful girl in the castle – after all, he had five roommates and other male acquaintances, and they were talking about their crushes from time to time – but for him, she was simply gorgeous.

“I know. Sirius thinks the same,” she said with a grin and sat down on the chair, which she put down in the middle of the room. He saw her taking a deep breath before she patted her left thigh. “Alright, Mr. Potter. Pants down and bend over.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at her words, and he could feel his pale cheeks turning red when he began unbuttoning his trousers. He was both excited and, all of a sudden, a little bit anxious. He was waiting for this moment. He was dreaming about it. But he also dreaded it. But not because he was about to have his bottom spanked. He could handle that, probably. He was anxious because he was worried that Hermione wouldn’t like what she was going to see.

He bit his lower lip when his trousers found themselves around his ankles and grabbed the waistband of his black boxers. He could do this.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry,” he heard Hermione’s quiet voice the moment he hesitated. He glanced at her. She was looking at him, concerned.

“I know. But I want to,” he whispered. “Just… don’t laugh, please.”

“You know I would _never_ laugh at you, Harry,” she responded gently. He knew that. He was just desperate to hear that. “I promise.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Harry quickly lowered his boxers.

An intense heat immediately hit his cheeks, making that his face could rival with a tomato. His hands, on the other hand, instantly went to cover his genitals. It was both the most exciting and embarrassing moment of his life.

Harry was usually quite content with his body, especially since he took potions to help him become healthy despite his malnutrition. He also knew his penis wasn’t the biggest – it was above average as far as he knew – but he thought it suited him. He wasn’t complaining as some boys he knew. But right now, when he stood in front of his best friend, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Look at me, Harry,” Hermione said in a soft tone.

He slowly opened one eye. His best friend was staring at him, at his _face_ , but he was able to notice a small blush on her cheeks as well. Reassured that she wasn’t disgusted, he opened his other eye.

“I think I know what you’re thinking. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of,” she spoke quietly, looking him right in the eyes. “And if you think that I care about your size… well, I _don’t._ I care about _you_ , okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, somehow feeling much better. He knew she wouldn’t lie to him.

“Good boy,” she said and patted her thigh again. “Come here.”

Harry closed the small distance between them, walking cautiously with his trousers and boxers around his ankles, and slowly assumed his position over Hermione’s knee. He bit his lower lip, blushing more than he already did, when his genitals connected with the witch’s leg, and his naked buttocks were on display. 

His heart started beating even faster. It was _finally_ happening!

“Are you comfortable, Harry?” Hermione questioned gently. “Well, as comfortable as you can be, that is.”

“I am,” he answered with a firm nod and noticed his friend’s wand on the floor. It was going to count the time. She most likely put it down when he was undressing.

“Then try to relax.” She put her delicate hand on his bottom. He moved excitedly at the touch. “You’re stressed.”

He thanked Merlin for casting the spell on himself to prevent an erection as Hermione’s touch was driving him crazy. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him.

“What is your safe word, Harry?” she asked him a moment later.

“Dementor,” he answered immediately.

“Good boy,” she responded, still massaging his exposed bottom. “And how long your spanking is going to last?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Correct,” she agreed. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Hermione.”

This time, Hermione delivered a non-verbal answer as her hand unexpectedly smacked him, stealing a surprised yelp from him.

That _stung!_ He was aware that it was going to hurt, but it still surprised him.

Before Harry had a chance to comprehend what just happened, his bottom received another smack. Then another. And another. And another.

A hiss against his will escaped his throat. He instinctually looked at Hermione’s wand. His spanking started merely three minutes ago, and he had a feeling as if someone set his bottom on _fire._ He could tell that Hermione wasn’t hitting him as hard as she could, but for someone who was spanking someone for the very first time, she knew what she was doing. Her spanks were precise. Deliberate. She wasn’t in a hurry. She was raising her hand at a steady pace, hitting his right and left buttocks alternatively. It was obvious that she did some research.

“Say a word, and I’ll stop,” he heard her saying a few moments later.

“Keep going,” he panted, trying hard not to groan in pain. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Hermione’s hand continued to assault his already sore bottom, and he was finding it harder than he thought to stay still. Merlin, he was a fool thinking that he could survive the tawse!

A broken sob escaped his throat. He looked at the wand. Six minutes. He could do this.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he managed to say. Tears started running down his face. “I can handle it.”

He was wrong. He couldn’t. Hermione continued to smack his bottom at a steady pace, but he was unable to take it anymore. He wanted it to _end_.

“Stop!” he yelled suddenly. “Please. Stop. Dementor.”

The next smack, to his great relief, didn’t arrive. Instead, a pair of familiar hands helped him to get up from his now uncomfortable position, and a moment later, he was in his best friend’s arms, crying like a small child and holding her as if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed into her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Everything is okay,” Hermione whispered into his ear, kissing his forehead. Her one hand was on his head now, playing with his messy hair, while the other started gently rubbing his sore bottom. It was making him feel better. “You’re brave.”

“I’m not,” he snivelled. “I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t,” she answered. “And I’m very proud of you.”

“Proud? Hermione, how can you be proud of me?” he questioned and glanced towards his best friend’s wand before he looked at her. “I lasted only seven minutes and twenty-four seconds. And I wanted the session to last twenty before you made me change my mind. I’m pathetic.”

“I’m proud of you because you were able to admit that you cannot handle your spanking instead of foolishly trying to endure the pain,” she started and wiped his fresh tears away. “I’m proud of you because I know that it had to be hard for you. And you’re _not_ pathetic. You’re wonderful.”

He sniffed. “I have to say that in my head, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Fantasy is often much better than reality,” Hermione chuckled and kissed his head again. “You did great anyway.”

He hummed and hid his face in his best friend’s chest again. She, on the other hand, resumed rubbing his bottom.

“Hermione?” he said a moment later, once he was calmer. “I didn’t like it.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t regret asking. I prefer knowing that I didn’t like it than fantasying about it all the time,” he continued quietly. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“You’re welcome, Harry,” she answered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he responded. “Oh, and Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

He raised his head and looked her in the eyes.

“Will you hold me like this for a while?”

“As long as you want me to,” she said. “As long as you want me to.”

They spent the next hour hugging like that. Because Harry knew that no matter what, he was safe in Hermione’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! You are amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. The story is also published on fanfiction.net under the same name.


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